


The Different Accidents of Life

by Lexalicious70



Category: The Magicians (TV)
Genre: M/M, References to Frankenstein
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-30
Updated: 2020-10-30
Packaged: 2021-03-09 01:59:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 776
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27286804
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lexalicious70/pseuds/Lexalicious70
Summary: Lonely scientist Quentin Coldwater creates a companion for himself from a morgue John Doe, but will his experiment be a successful one?
Relationships: Quentin Coldwater/Eliot Waugh
Kudos: 13
Collections: Kinktober Horror Erotica Collection by Quentins_Quill





	The Different Accidents of Life

**Author's Note:**

> For Kinktober: The Queliot Edition, day 30: "Medical Mischief." Title borrowed from an excerpt from Frankenstein, by Mary Shelley.

Ever since I was old enough to understand and examine my own existence, one question plagued me: was there anyone, anywhere, as alone as I? 

Grief and isolation had made a meal of me before I saw my 18th birthday; my mother, who died birthing me, was now in the ground for over two decades and my father joined her three days after my 17th birthday, snatched away by tuberculosis. I was an only child, born to only children, and my anxious and melancholy nature caused most people to turn away from me. Despite my medical degree and a comfortable manor home left to me by my father, I failed to attract a mate. I would have welcomed either sex when it came to companionship, but as I approached my 23d year as a single man, I decided to take charge of my future. 

My choice to create a partner for myself was not one I made on a whim; I saw it as an option that would improve my life and give someone else a second chance at theirs. I was patient as I made excuses to tour the city’s morgues and then, just last night, I found him. 

He’d been the victim of a hit and run downtown, but no one had claimed him or reported any of their friends missing, which made it simpler for me to steal him away from the medical examiner’s office. The cause of death was simple enough--a broken neck--but other than some bruises, he wasn’t disfigured in any way. His beauty was intact; he had a long, lean frame, unruly raven curls, big, elegant hands, and a jawline and lips that transfixed me, even in death. The only clue to his identity was a flask he’d been carrying in his vest pocket with the name  _ ELIOT  _ engraved on it. 

I examined him--yes, I would have to repair the spinal fracture or replace the smashed vertebrae and then start his heart and lungs working again. But afterward? Oh yes, I would have my companion. 

How, you may wonder, would I bring my companion to life? The answers lay hidden in my grandfather’s medical journals, which I had inherited along with the manor. Arthur Ambrose Coldwater, M.D., died six years before I, Quentin Makepeace Coldwater, was born, but he spoke to me through those writings, where he pondered the possibilities of reanimating dead tissue. 

Now here I was, in my manor basement with my still-unbreathing companion. I’d replaced the shattered sections of vertebrae with that of a John Doe I had managed to nick from the morgue, and now my companion had a corset-style zigzag of stitches along the nape of his neck and partway to his shoulder blades. But no matter, his clothing would cover most of the scar. He lay nude on a metal table, beautiful somehow even pale as he was. His death certificate listed his eye color as hazel, and I longed to see the shade for myself. 

I cranked the metal table upright and I primed the electrical system I’d created. I had no assistant--I preferred to work alone--and connected electrodes and clamps as the system hummed. My grandfather had worked with lightning, but I was fortunate enough to have almost unlimited electricity at my disposal. I cranked dials and monitored meters as the hair on my arms stood at attention. 

“Live!” I said to my companion. “Live, please, you’ve got to!” I whispered. “Please . . .” 

Electricity crackled and arced across the room, throwing blue and silver shadows across my companion’s face, but he showed no signs of life. The electricity reached its peak and then began to fade. 

“No--no, goddamn it, no!” I shouted as the noises died away. I cranked the metal table back down, undid the clamps, and put my stethoscope to my companion’s chest. 

No heartbeat, no sound. No life. 

“Oh God. No . . .” I turned and stumbled against the wall, sliding down it as if my bones had suddenly been stolen away. I hid my face in my hands as the sobs came, full of grief and loneliness. I had failed. 

I don’t know how long I sat there, planning a trip to the nearest tall bridge and contemplating an end to this life of endless misery. Then, a hand fell on my shoulder and I started, glancing up, my vision blurred with tears. My companion, Eliot, smiled, his hazel eyes filled with light and life. I stared and then reached out to touch his face. The flesh was warm and no longer carried that pallid look of death. 

“My beloved,” he murmured. 

THE END 


End file.
